


Tales of the night

by pamymex3girl



Series: Big Bang Stories [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Character Death, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Prisoners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamymex3girl/pseuds/pamymex3girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two prisoners inside the castle of the evil queen that are kept close. One is a huntsman who spared the live of her rival and lost his heart, the other a girl who fell in love with the Dark One and lost her freedom. Together they form a friendship, over many nights, that helps them battle the worst parts of their captivity. </p>
<p>In the end both will escape but only one  will truly gain freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SusanMarieR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanMarieR/gifts).



> Written for the 2013 bromance big bang. 
> 
> I'd like to thank castie67 for having been my betareader. 
> 
> Also a thank you to SusanMarieR for having made the art to this fic. The art can be found here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/867772?view_adult=true

 

 

 

 

Outside, out there in the world Belle can no longer reach, the wind is howling and the people are hiding in their houses.

Inside however a fire burning in the fireplace warms the palace and all windows have been closed insuring no cold can make it in. In another life, in another time, Belle might have appreciated that, she would have been able to bask in the warmth which was a stark contrast to the cold winds outside, but she could not for she was a prisoner, dragged in at the command of the evil queen. This woman, who had once convinced her that a kiss would save Rumplestilskin, inspired only fear, no love.  It is on that day that she first sees him, the man she would one day call her best friend, as she is being dragged through the castle past what seems to be the entire staff – which for some bizarre reason seems to be composed solely out of guards – who’d all stop their work to stare at her as if she is some attraction, and Belle figures that for these people, working for an evil queen, she probably is.

He, the kind one, is different from them; and that, really, is the reason she notices him.

He who stands slightly apart from the others, on his own amongst the masses; as if he’s _among_ them but not _with_ them. He’s leaning against the wall, leaning where the others are standing tall, and he’s staring at everything except at _her;_ as if he knows how humiliating this is, how hurtful, to be dragged past all these men, all of them knowing her to be a prisoner, all of them imagining doing unspeakable things to her. He never looks at her, sparing her the feeling of another set of eyes – later she wonders if she imagined all this or if it had been real – until she stumbles, losing her footing right where he stands and falls on the ground. There’s laughter then, all around her, they’re all laughing at her misfortune – and she wonders, briefly,  what Rumplestilskin might do to these men who treated her this way and to the queen who allowed them to – and then _he’s_ there beside her, helping her up; and in that moment their eyes meet.

There are a lot of emotions in his eyes: there’s fear and confusion, compassion and pity.

And for one shining moment she thinks she’s found it, a kindred spirit, someone among all these evil men who does not truly belong and who might help her escape. It would not be difficult; she’s sure she only needs a single moment of distraction. But then the moment is over and she stands on her own as he steps back to where he came from, leans against the wall again and stares at the ground. He might not be as evil as the other men, he might have compassion for a girl far from home, he might even feel truly sorry for her, but he will not help her escape. She does not struggle as the guards drag her up the stairs and into the room that will become her cell and she hopes, desperately, that whatever the evil queen has planned for her will be over soon.

She curls up on the bed and she cries until she thinks sleep takes over.

And she thinks not of kind eyes and warm fires, but of a man of immense power that, as soon as he learns she is a prisoner, will come to save her.

 

*~*

 

Since Belle was a child she had wanted adventure.

She spent most of her youth dreaming up fantastical worlds where she and her dolls and her many imaginary friends would have the most _amazing_ adventures. While the other girls around her would be very content to play indoors Belle would always sit at the window and wonder, truly, what the outside world looked like. One day, when she was but a child of six, Belle had found a way to sneak past her governess and the guards stationed at her door and she’d snuck into the garden and just stood there, soaking up the sun and she thought then that the world was _wonderful._ This is what she remembers about what happened next: there was a beautiful butterfly and she’d followed it into the woods. So engrossed had she been in following the beautiful butterfly that she did not notice how far she had strayed, until it finally flew out of reach and she stopped to look around, only to realize she was lost, lost and alone in a place she did not recognize and unable to see the castle.

When her father would tell the story later it would sound as if she was just outside the castle grounds.

But this is how Belle remembers it: she was _far away._

She could hear nothing, not the sounds of the guards and the courtiers looking for her, not the shaking voice of her governess, just the birds in the trees and the wind howling though the trees. She’d grown scared, young as she was, young and unable to find her way home and she’d curled up in a small ball and cried, wishing for her daddy to come and find her. She’s never been sure how much time passed, nor how long she was in fact lost, but eventually she realized there was something warm and soft pressing against her face, drawing her attention. And as she opened her eyes she’d looked straight into the eyes of a wolf – one red eye if she recalls it correctly. And she had known, through stories mostly, that wolves were dangerous but still she was not afraid as if somehow the wolf had managed to communicate to her that he – or she for all Belle knows – was not dangerous.

He’d guided her back to the castle, until she was close enough to hear her father’s voice.

She’d forgotten about the wolf as she ran towards his voice until she already stood in the garden.

She turned then but the wolf was gone, gone back to where he came from now that he, or she, knew that she was safe. Then she’d been in her father’s arms and she’d forgotten about what happened, until much later; although she told her father, he’d never believed her, not really, always telling her it had been a figment of her imagination, just a companion she’d imagined when she felt alone. She’d  nodded and accepted his explanation, but in her heart she had always known that the wolf with kind eyes that had guided her home in her moment of need had been real; and at night she’d wish him well on his many journeys in the world and she’d hope that he was alright. It was not, however, until she lay alone in the queen’s castle that she truly remembered the wolf and wished he was by her side. There to help her, to guide her back home, back to the father and the friends she had left behind so long ago, or perhaps to Rumplestilskin who would surely protect her.

She knew he would not come; he could not even if he still lived.  All she could do was lie in the darkness and pray that whatever the queen had planned would be over soon.

 

*~*

 

Nobody ever told him anything.

Not the guards who went out on their many missions, or the ones who roamed the castle, not the queen who used him as she pleased or her father who protected her above all. The huntsman figured it was because they did not trust him, for they knew he was not truly with them, not here by choice; nor was he evil in any way. Because for all the queen’s torture, and all she did to him night after night, she could never accomplish the one thing she truly wanted: to turn him against all he believed and truly turn him into someone who stood proudly by her side. They were right of course not to trust him, not to tell him their plans and idea. If he were to get a chance he would spoil them, save people and help innocents get away; for he had figured out that though he might wish for it at times the queen would not kill him.

He was not a part of their staff, not really.

Though the huntsman did not wish to be included in any way, especially not in their plans to kill Snow White, it was still a lonely existence. He has no way of knowing how long he’s been here, how long it’s been since he allowed Snow White to run, but he knows it has been quite a long time – or perhaps it has not been. Perhaps it has been merely a few weeks and the torture has made it seem longer. He has never been a stranger to solitude, nor to loneliness, for he had spent most of his life alone. He had long since learned that people were cruel and they shied away from him if he came too close, just because of whom he was and where he’d grown. In those times, although people shied away from him, he had never truly been alone for their had always been his wolf brother, someone who was always by his side. But now he was truly alone trapped inside a castle, surrounded by people he would never agree with and would never have joined.

In fact, he was not alone; there was the queen’s new prisoner, who’d looked so lost and afraid as they dragged her in.

When she’d fallen he’d acted before thinking, unable to help himself, and he’d moved to help her even though he had known the queen would punish him. When she looked him he had seen fear, determination, and pleading, as if she was silently asking him to help her. But he, who could no longer feel the beating of his own heart, for it lay in a chest beside the queen’s bed, could not. He’d already defied her once, spared the life of a young girl not unlike this one whom he didn’t know, and it had cost him greatly. He did not dare to imagine what the queen would take from him or do to him were he to do this again, even if it was with a different girl. So he’d stepped back without a word. Although everything in him screamed to do something he did nothing as they dragged her past him to her cell.

He saw her again the next day, standing in front of the queen, scared, obviously, but oh so _brave._

He’d been standing in the far west corner, where he always stood, somewhat in the darkness and he wondered where it came from, that bravery, that fight. He wondered if he had once been that brave, that strong, before he’d become her slave and he wondered, too, how long it would take before that fight disappeared from the queen’s new prisoner. He had not noticed, had not realized, that the queen had seen him staring at her, not until later in the darkness of her chambers as he closed his eyes and prayed for a way out of this life.

“I saw you staring at my new pet, Huntsman, I saw your desire. If you want her, visit her at night, I shall cheer you on, Huntsman.”

For a moment he was repulsed, wanted to scream that he would never, ever harm an innocent maiden. But then he wondered if perhaps this was some test, some way for her to know he was truly under her command. Perhaps she was testing to see if he was still the same man who had once spared her stepdaughter or if she had changed him into someone else. She had not of course but she need not know that, she need not know that he would never harm her, and he need not scare the girl either.

If he was in her cell he could not be with the queen nor would she expect it.

 

*~*

 

On the first night of her captivity Belle did not sleep.

If she did, she did not notice; if she did, it was only for a moment. Tired though she was from the long journey here, her fear was too great to allow her any form of rest. It reminded her, briefly, of her first nights in the dungeons of Rumplestilskin’s castle. But at least there she had been allowed to leave her cell. Although it was to work, she was allowed to walk the many halls and stare out the windows and read any books she wanted, as long as she finished the work he gave her. Here it seemed, however, that she was to stay inside her cell, not doing anything but losing her mind. At least, and this was something she learned with time, she would be treated relatively well, she would be fed and dressed and not harmed in any way.

On the second night of her captivity Belle stared at the ceiling.

She wished sleep would come, and she was sure that at some point she would fall asleep without noticing, but for now, at the beginning of the night, she was still too afraid. This was the main difference, Belle realized, between this castle and the last she had been trapped in; she did not feel safe here but she had felt safe in Rumplestilskin’s castle, more so as time went by. She had known somehow, even at the beginning that though he tried to frighten her he would never truly harm her, so she had slept relatively well. But here she did not feel this way. No matter how safe she may be right now, the queen could change her mind at any second.

So she lay awake and stared at the ceiling and willed herself to think of other things.

She thought of her loving father in his castle, safe from the ogres, so far away. She wondered if he was still waiting for her to return, still hoping she’d somehow escape, still trying to save her from another dungeon, in another castle far away. She wondered what he would do were he to discover she had been released by the Dark One months ago, that she had chosen to travel the world instead of going home and reassuring him she was alright.  Perhaps he even believed her dead, killed at the hands of a beast; perhaps that was even the story he shared with the world. She thought of Rumplestilskin in another castle far away, all alone and drowning in his anger and she wondered if he remembered her or if he had willed himself to forget. She wondered what he would do if he were to discover she was a prisoner in the evil queen’s castle.

She thought of things she wished she could forget and things she wanted to remember.

She thought of all the books she had once read and tried to remember every single story, every word written on the pages, but they mangled together in one big mess. She supposed it didn’t truly matter how she remembers the stories as long as she had something to think about.

 

*~*

 

In those first two days she dared not move.

She had been so afraid that even the smallest movement would attract attention and remind them that she was here. But Belle had once faced the Dark One without any fear – alright she had been afraid but she had faced him and that was the point – and she had gone off on her own to see the world and she’d helped Mulan fight a monster. Belle would not stay frozen in fear forever and she was also getting more bored as time went by and besides if they want to come they will come whether she moves or not.

So she paces her small room, counts the steps it takes to walk it, counts the stones and the tiles.

On the fifteenth time she passes the door she hears voices, though not very clear ones, and for one terrifyingly long moment she thinks they have come for her. But though the voices come from just outside her door they do not enter, they come no closer, and she realizes it’s just two guards gossiping. The smart thing would have been to back away, to sit back down on her bed and not to draw attention to herself. But, she thinks, it might be beneficial to know what is going on, to be able to do something but pace in her cell. She sits down next to the door and listens attentively to the voices coming from outside.

They talk of _her_ , comments that Belle wishes to erase from her memory forever.

They talk of the queen and of her many plans, and they try to decipher what her next move will be. Most of the queen’s anger, as Belle learns, seemed to be directed at her stepdaughter and Belle wonders if the poor girl actually did something wrong or if she, like her, was just a victim of circumstance.

They talk of _him,_ someone among them who is different, not truly a part of them. She thinks of him again, the kind man who helped her up, and she wonders why he is here if he does not belong. The whispers answer her questions somewhat, though she does not truly understand, as they gossip about the horrible things the queen does to him in the dead of night.

Belle had not wondered if there were others like her, other prisoners inside these walls. She had never wondered if there was perhaps more than one kind of prisoner, someone walking outside in those many halls – like she had once done in Rumplestiskin’s castle – who’s just a different kind of prisoner. She’s grateful she’s not a prisoner like him, that she has never been, just in case the whispers are true; and she hopes they are not, but she suspects they are. She prefers to be locked in this cell, even if she dies of boredom, than to get freedom but have to surrender to those men outside and allow them to do what they wish.

She wonders how the queen turned him into that kind of prisoner but she supposes he had no choice.

She certainly didn’t.

 

*~*

 

On the fourth night of her captivity when the darkness has descended on the castle her door opens for the first time.

Instantly she sits, startled by the sound as she had almost found sleep, and presses herself against the wall in an attempt to get as far away as she can. She pulls the covers up, covering herself, and for an instant she thinks of screaming. She doesn’t because there is no point. Nobody will save her, and if they’ve sent someone in to harm her then surely the queen has given her permission. It takes her a moment to realize that whoever it is, whoever has scared her, is not moving from his position by the door.

It’s him, she finds, the one with the kind eyes, who’d helped her once.

He’s leaning against the door, as far away from her as he can get without leaving the cell, his hands up, his palms turned towards her in a universal sign of surrender, telling her it’s okay.

“Do not be frightened, I am not here to harm you. I am just going to sit here.”

She gives no answer but she does remember the whispers, the stories she’d heard, and she remembers that he too is a prisoner of the queen. In his eyes there’s pain and compassion, but most of all there’s relief, relief he’s in here and not out there and it’s that mostly that causes her to lie back down. He’s grateful that he is here with her and not at the beck and call of an evil queen who can use him against his will for reasons Belle is sure she wishes not to understand. She says nothing, unsure if she can trust him, and just watches as he sinks down, leans against the door, pulls his knees up and buries his head in his arms.

Belle sleeps that night, whether from pure exhaustion or because she has accepted she’s safe with him there, she’ll never sure.

She wakes in the morning to find him gone though he has left her a simple message.

In the wall next to the door there are two words scratched in the stone: “Thank you.”

 

*~*

 

When he arrives the next night she’s expecting him.

She’s already sitting up, watching him as he closes the door and sits in the same position as the night before. She wonders again how he came to be here and why he’s not locked in a cell like she is. Why is it, she wonders, that he can walk freely, is it perhaps because he’s a man she can use? Or does she perhaps have something she can use to keep him in line? Or is it simpler, a queen who wants something and though she takes it by force she gives her victim some form of freedom?

They could just sit here, she realizes, just the two of them, in silence, comforters but never connecting.

But what would that accomplish?

“My name is Belle.”

If anyone were to ever asks, should anyone care enough to, Belle will never acknowledge the fact that her voice shook and he probably won’t either. He looks up in wonder, staring at her as if she spoke some foreign language; clearly he had never expected her to ever talk to him. But Belle had never been one to do what people expected of her.

“What’s your name?”

For a long time he does not answer, so long that Belle wonders if perhaps he doesn’t wish to talk or if he’s somehow unable to talk. If he wants silence, truly, she’ll give it and if he can’t speak she’ll fill the silence on her own. As the silence stretches between them she accepts that he does not wish to speak and lies back down and closes her eyes, opening them a while later when he does finally answer.

“I have no name.”

His voice is uncertain, as if he’s not accustomed to having actual conversations, and perhaps he really is not; she does not know, after all how long he’s been here. But at least he sound sure of what he says even if, in her eyes, it makes no sense.

“What do you mean? Everyone has a name. What do people call you then?”

“I grew up differently from normal people. They call me Huntsman.”

“Huntsman? That is not a name. But if you so choose I shall call you that. Why are you here?”

“In your cell, my lady? Or inside this castle?”

“Both. Either.”

“It is safe here with you in your cell, she won’t call if I am here. Why are you here, my lady? What is it you did to anger her?”

“Nothing that I know of, expect fall in love with Rumplestilskin and have him love me back, though he did not wish to acknowledge it. That is why I’m here I suppose. What about you?”

“She wished for me to kill her stepdaughter, Snow White, but I could not do it and spared her life instead. In revenge the queen took something from me and trapped me inside this place.”

“What is it she took?”

“My heart.”

After that he says nothing more, just buries his head in his arms, clearly done with the conversation. Belle would like to know how one can walk around with no heart, or why he spared that young girl knowing there would be consequences.

She doesn’t ask, however, she says nothing, because sometimes silence is more comforting than words.

 

*~*

 

After that he comes almost every night.

Sometimes they sit in silence, lost in their own thoughts and worlds, thinking of their very different days. Mostly however, more so as time goes by, they talk or she talks and he listens. She tells him stories of the world, of where she came from and grew up and how she came to be here. She shares the stories she read, mashing together stories she can no longer keep apart and confusing names and places, but he seems not to care; he just soaks up all her stories. Sometimes he’s the one who talks, weaving tales of the castle they live in, about the many rooms and what one finds in them. He never speaks of the queen or the guards stationed everywhere, nor does he share anything of his past, and Belle learns not to ask.

There are times he listens, there are times he talks, and there are times he brings her things.

One night he brings her a beautiful dress that the queen has sent with him. The queen wishes Belle to wear it, though he cannot explain why she does. It’s quite clear however that she should wear it for she wished not to know what would happen to her were she not to.

On another night he brings her a blanket because he’s realized that it’s getting rather cold at night.

He tells her that sometimes the queen punishes him by not allowing him food and Belle begins saving some of her supper, such as the bread, to share with him.

When she tells him she loves reading and she misses it dearly he smuggles in a book. It’s one she’s read before and though it’s not a book she enjoyed, she’s grateful for it. Because it’s been so long since she’s held a book and been able to read and it might chase away some of the boredom during the day; when he tells her he can’t read she doesn’t ask the things of his childhood she wishes to know but instead begins reading to him in a soft voice.

By that night he’s moved away from the door to sit closer to her, though it will take many more nights before she’ll ask him to sit by her side on the bed.

Before she knows what has happened she has stopped referring to him as “the huntsman” in her mind but simply as “her friend.” And she thinks of all the names she knows and settles on the name Graham, for she likes it and she believes that everyone should have a name.

_There will come a time, many, many years later; in a land far away he’ll introduce himself to the savior with the name she has given him._

*~*

 

There are nights he does not come and those are the nights that frighten her.

She tries not to think about what happens to him on those nights he does not come, what she does to him when he cannot make it. She tries to ignore the fear that someday he will not return, that she’ll kill him and she’ll lose her only friend, but it’s hard to ignore the feeling and it’s hard to forget. Especially when she sees him for the first time after he’s been away, afraid, back to how he once was, curled up in a ball against the door. He won’t look at her on those nights, moving away from her touch as if he fears she will hurt him. She knows he doesn’t mean to, that it’s really just a reaction, and it pains her to see him this way. She has seen this before, though not many times for her father shielded her from them, with women who had been violated, raped by men. And that, more than anything, makes her wonder why he simply does not run and what exactly it means not to have one’s heart.

Clearly it doesn’t protect you from fear or pain.

She cares for him on those nights, persistently, to insure that he knows she is there, that she is his friend and won’t harm him. It takes a while but eventually he allows her to care for him, to cure his wounds and attempt to heal his soul.

She hugs him once and whispers softly: “It’s okay, I’m here.”

He smiles for the first time.

 

*~*

 

It takes her 40 nights to gather her courage and finally ask:

“Do you really not have a name?”

“No, at least not one you’d understand.”

“What does that mean? How can you not have a name? Did you parent’s not give you one?”

“Perhaps they did, but most likely they did not. I have no parents; not really, the people who brought me into this world abandoned me in the dark woods when I was but a small boy. I suspect they expected me to die there and I would have had it had not been for a mother wolf who’d just had cubs and probably took pity on me since I was crying. She taught me everything I know about living and surviving and I grew up in those woods as part of her family, her pack. As I grew older I started spending more time with one brother who’s still out there somewhere waiting for me. She gave me name, my wolf mother, but only other wolves are able to understand it and no human could ever pronounce it.”

“I am sorry about your parents.”

“Do not be, I grew up happy despite their betrayal. I had a family and a good life and perhaps the only thing I lacked was contact with other people.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most humans, in fact almost everyone I have ever met, take pain in avoiding me if they can get away with it. I was considered not worthy of their time, dirty, not a true human because I was raised by wolves. I had no friend among them and they treated me as they treated my family: with distain. In fact you are the first person to find out and not look at me as if I am a monster.”

“You, Huntsman, are a far better person than most people I know. Did I ever tell you about my fiancé Gaston?”

She tells him, avoiding all the questions she would like to ask but will not for he obviously does not wish to speak of it. Instead she tells him of Gaston, who’d believed that she was strange for loving to read, and her father and ogre wars that almost destroyed her home.

Later, before she sleeps, she broaches a subject she thinks she should have talked of before this.

“I still think you should have a name, something I might call you, something I can understand.”

“What would you suggest?”

“How about Graham?”

“Very well.”

 

*~*

 

After that night, after he speaks of his own past, he begins to tell her stories of growing up among wolves and all his brothers and sisters; he tells her the many adventures they’d gone on and the things he still wished to do, should he ever escape. He takes the time, though it sounds strange, to teach her how to survive in the wild, should she ever escape and find herself lost and alone in the woods.

She in turns tells him of her dreams, of her want to travel the world and see many things she had read about and her desire to be a true hero.

He speaks of Snow White at times, a woman whose life he spared despite never having met her before, how he considers her a friend even if they barely spoke and he’s not even sure she remembers him. He expresses his wish that she is safe, far away from the evil queen, and that his sacrifice had not been in vain. She cringes as he tells her how the queen reached in his chest and pulled out his heart when she realized what he had done.

In response she tells him of Mulan, who she considers to be her friend, and of the beast they fought that turned out to be a cursed prince. She shares the tale of grumpy the dwarf who had not understood that he had fallen in love with a fairy and she shares the tale of her own true love.

He doesn’t believe and though she thinks he’s wrong it comes not as a surprise: his parent’s did abandon him after all.

 

*~*

 

He brings her books, taking care to make sure that only one is in her cell at the time, so as not to call attention to it. When he finds one of her favorite books he brings it to her assuring her that she can keep it, for he doubts the queen would notice one book missing as it does not seem as if she enjoys reading.

After a hundred nights he always sits beside her on the bed.

He brings her a whistle he has made so that should she ever escape – which she does not consider likely considering the circumstances – she only need to use it and his brother would come to help her.

 

*~*

 

One night he finds her crying and she tells him how much she misses the outside world, people to interact with, animals to watch, how she misses the sunlight as it warms her and the sound of birds as they sing their songs in the trees.

She misses the flowers blooming in the sun, coloring the grounds in vivid colors.

Every night after that he brings her daffodils by the dozens just so he can make her smile.

 

 

*~*

 

“Things are changing, Belle, the prince was here today.”

“The prince?”

“Snow White’s prince, the queen had captured him, bought him really from King George in an attempt to trap Snow but he escaped and went to save her. Things will change now, you’ll see, they will defeat her and then you will be rescued.”

“Surely we will both be rescued? She will certainly not forget what you did for her, what you lost?”

“I doubt she knows and truthfully, Belle, I doubt the queen will simply let me go. It matters not Belle. It was worth it, I assure you. I could never have let her or him, as it turns out, die.”

She says nothing, startled at his admission that he does not expect to escape here with his life and though she does not want to acknowledge the possibility, she is sure he is right.

He is a braver man than anyone she knows, and a better person.

He’s the hero, really, of this tale.

 

*~*

 

Sometimes they speak of escaping.

She’s the one who brings up the subject but he is the one who comes up with plans – at first the most ridiculous plans that could _never_ have worked but later _actual_ plans to help her get out. And that really is the constant factor of his escape plans: she escapes but he never does always staying behind trapped with the queen.

“Belle,” he points out one night as she has involved him in yet another escape plan, “I don’t have a heart, she has it in a chest. No matter where I go, no matter how far I run, I will always be her prisoner, always trapped, always under her control. Wherever I go, no matter the protections, should I escape she need only take it out and squeeze it and I will suffer and eventually I will die. There is nothing to do about it, this is the way it is, and no matter what, dear Belle, I do not wish to die.”

“You cannot stay here forever.”

“I am hopeful, Belle. If Snow and her prince manage to overpower her I will be free. Even if they cannot return my heart to my chest I will no longer be at someone’s mercy. For she will surely not torture me with it and allow me to leave.”

Embarrassingly it takes until her 200th night of captivity to realize the obvious solution to his problem.

“Rumplestilskin!”

“What?”

“That’s it Graham. If we find a way to escape and get to him in his castle everything will be alright. He is the most powerful person I know, more powerful than her since she tried to trick me into taking away his powers. He will be furious at her for keeping me here and he will be grateful towards you. If anyone can get you your heart _he can.”_

“You are sure?”

“Of course!”

She wishes she felt as sure as she made herself sound.

 

*~*

 

Four weeks before the curse hits, though they do not know this at the time, they attempt to escape.

They do not get far, not even off the grounds, and Belle realizes later, much, much later that the queen had _known_ everything. She had known of their friendship but she had allowed it to progress, waiting for the moment where she could harm them the most with the knowledge.

No matter how long she lives, how much she goes through or how much time passes Belle will never, ever forget his screams as the queen tortured him using the heart he had lost so long ago. After she’s done, or perhaps more accurately after she’s had enough of Belle’s screams and pleas, she has the guards drag her away and Belle finds herself alone in her cell.

She does not see him for a week.

Every night and every day she stares at the door, willing it to open, and she tries desperately to catch some whisper of what has happened, terrified as she is that he might have been killed. The books he brought her are still hiding under her pillow, the daffodils are dying all around her and the words on the wall, thank you, mock her.

On the eight night after their ill-fated escape the door opens and he is back.

She moves before she realizes, hugging him before her mind makes the conscious decision to do this, and he, for the first time, hugs her back.

He cries that night and Belle wonders if, in all his time as her slave and prisoner, he has ever even done that.

 

*~*

The last time she sees him, though she does not realize, nor does he, that it is the last time -  she will not realize this until after the curse is broken – he brings her daffodils again.

He tells her of his mother and his brother and for the first time she hears something in his voice that she had never heard before: painful resignation. As if he has accepted what he had fought until now: that he would never see them again, that he would most likely die within these walls.

She tells him of her father and she wonders, though not for the first time, if she will ever see him again.

He is there still when she wakes in the morning, which has never happened before – and later, after everything is over, Belle will wonder if he had somehow known that they would not see each other for a long time – and he hugs her briefly before he leaves.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

He smiles at her though he says nothing and leaves without looking back.

He does not come that night, somehow she is not surprised.

 

*~*

 

 

The curse takes over, suddenly and with no warning, and after that, for the longest time, there is _nothing._

The world changes, the place becomes something else, the grand room changes into a small padded cell, and her beautiful dress fades to make way for a white hospital gown. There is nothing to distract her, nothing to remember, no stories to recall or friends to wait for, no memories to give her faith.

Just _nothing._

His prison is bigger than hers, as it had always been, not a grand castle but a whole town and a freedom he had only dreamed of since he had lost his heart, though it was only an illusion. No longer tortured by her, no longer really scared for he knew not the truth, no longer aware of what he had given up.

Still prisoners though, the both of them, with no freedom and no way out.

And alone, which was in the end far, far worse.

*~*

 

When he kisses Emma that first time, he is seized by the onslaught of strange memories that are not _his._

There’s woods that are achingly familiar, and Regina, though she’s not really _Regina_ and a scared Mary Margaret and a knife, and a wolf that means the world to him though he doesn’t know why, and kind brown eyes he cannot place. It scares him, these flashes, indicators of another life he cannot remember; and though he wishes desperately that they were a dream, he knows somehow that they are not.

The second, the one of true love, makes him remember _everything._

Even the things he wishes to forget.

He thinks of Belle then, his kind best friend, and he knows she is out there somewhere, still trapped wherever Regina has put her. It matters not, he’ll fix that, he need only tell Rumplestilskin after all and then he can do what Belle said he could so long ago: get his heart and set him free.

When he finds her he will tell her how wrong he was not to believe in love.

His heart squeezes, the pain unimaginable – for he had forgotten how horrible it really was – and then it was all over.

He thinks of Emma, who’d opened her heart to him, and of Belle who could not be saved and whom he would never meet again.

Then the darkness descends and he is finally truly free.

 

 

*~*

 

First Belle remembers Rumplestilskin.

Then she remembers her father.

Then, and only then, she remembers her best friend, the huntsman, _Graham._

It takes days, many of them in fact, before she asks, before she starts that conversation. At first she thinks she’ll just run into him, finding him somewhere in this small town lost in the chaos, confused just like they all were. She knows he will be here somewhere, he has to be, for surely the queen would not have left her favorite pet – for that was all he had truly had been – behind when she cast this curse.

She cannot simply ask for she knows nothing of him, not here in this world at least.

When she finally asks – confused over the fact that she found no trace of him – she ends up wishing she never had. The stricken look on his face is enough to tell her that whatever happened to him, it was not good and she knows then, even before Rumple tells her, that she will never lay eyes on him again.

The newspaper, dated not so long ago, tells a story, and he fills in the blanks.

A heart attack it says, with no warning, and the whole town will mourn the dead of their beloved sheriff.

A heart attack it says but she knows better.

He looks sad as she tells him of their friendship though she’s not sure why.

Maybe it’s simply because there had been someone here all this time that had known where she was.

 

*~*

 

She puts it off until after the savior and her mother return but eventually Belle visits his grave.

She goes on a Thursday, a little after five, and there she finds the savior, the sheriff – Emma – staring at his grave. She knows the tale, or as much as Rumple knows anyway: that he had fallen in love with Snow White’s daughter, that true love’s kiss had broken his curse and that he had died shortly thereafter.

Murdered by the queen, perhaps because she had finally lost complete control of him.

If she had ever had any at all.

She’s tempted to walk up to her and tell her all she knows of the best friend they both loved, albeit in their own way. She does so later, one afternoon when Emma is free, but for now she just waits, silently in the shadows, until Emma leaves and rejoins the town.

The gravestone is simple, just his name – or the name he was known by here and also to her – and nothing else.

A single white rose, clearly placed there by Emma, lies on the grave.

Belle places dozens of daffodils around the rose.

At least he found some form of freedom even if it was only an illusion, at least he had been freer than he had been in a long time, at least he found love in the end.

 

*~*

 

_Once in a land far, far away; inside a castle, ruled over by an evil queen, there lived two prisoners._

_One was a huntsman, who grew up around wolves and was shunned by people because of it. A huntsman who had spared the life of a complete stranger and lost his heart as punishment, who was tortured and alone; trapped in a life he had never wanted._

_The other was a girl, who had gone with a beast to save her people, and had fallen in love with the Dark One. As his one true love she was the most valuable of all the evil queen’s prisoners, and thus she was kept trapped in a cell all alone._

_One night the huntsman came to her cell so he could hide from the evil queen and slowly, over time, they became the best of friends._

_Then the evil queen cast a curse and they were whisked away, their memories erased and separated._

_Until the day the savior came to town and fell in love with the huntsman. Together they battled the queen and saved his heart, and after he had spoken to the Dark One, the girl too was rescued. After many weeks, the curse was broken, their memories returned, and the girl found her true love, new friends and her best friend all at once._

_And together they lived happily ever after._

*~*

 

This is the tale, perhaps with more detail, that Belle will someday tell her children.

Or any children that asks her to tell a story.

So that the world will never forget that a man like him had once existed, kind and brave, a true hero who had saved strangers at terrible cost and befriended a lonely girl trapped in a cell. So that nobody, even in future generations, would ever forget he had been _here,_ a part of their story, even though he no longer was.

She would take care to end it in happily ever after, partly because she wishes that was the end. She’d tell it this way until those children, both hers and others, would be old enough to understand and accept that not all dreams can come true, that not all heroes are recognized and not all stories have a happy ending.

That sometimes people are killed for no real reason at all.

She’d make sure that he would be remembered even after she and Emma were long gone.

 

*~*

 

She dreams of him at times.

Sitting together, outside lying somewhere – she cannot tell in which world they are, and she’s sure it does not matter – the sun shining above them, the birds singing around them, a wolf lying by his side. They are laughing and talking, about what she does not know, and there are dozens of daffodils around them, for as far as she can see.

She wakes smiling.

Perhaps it is him saying goodbye.

 

*~*

 

Every Thursday, in a town called Storybrooke, the sheriff Emma Swan would disappear for an hour, though nobody would truly take notice.

She’d buy a rose from Belle’s father and place it on the grave of the man she had loved,. She stands there and remembers, though she would never speak, and then she would leave again, back to her life. Belle comes after her, placing dozens of daffodils on the grave of her best friend.

She will not speak either.

If someone would come after them, though nobody does, they would find a grave with just a name, covered with daffodils and in the middle a single white rose - their way of mourning the man they had both loved in their own way.


End file.
